Royal Disaster #6

by Ember Casey

  “What the fuck…” Pax grumbles the words under his breath.

  Monsieur Bonnaire lifts a brow but doesn’t respond to my husband’s outburst, guiding him into the room.

  This is one of the rarely used dining rooms, bigger than our family’s usual dining area, but too small for a formal dinner party.

  Monsieur Bonnaire seems to sense my thoughts as he walks over to the rack of jackets hanging against the wall. “This room is used to host a single dignitary and his companion. Dignitaries usually travel with an entourage, so the family needs a larger space when hosting a party of that size.” He pulls one of the coats from the rack, handing it to Pax. “This one should fit just fine.”

  “Why can’t I just wear my shirt? It isn’t like anyone’s going to see us in here—”

  “You’re far more likely to act your part if you look and feel your part.” His glance slides over Pax. “I doubt you could feel the part of a dignitary dressed in jeans and a T-shirt.”

  Pax narrows his gaze but still slides the jacket on over his shirt. “I’m not some dignitary, though. I thought that was the point of this bullshit—”

  “The use of coarse language during a formal dining affair is also prohibited.” He makes a motion toward the dining table. “But I would think that would be obvious.”

  “Yeah, it’s all so obvious.” Pax rolls his eyes as he sits at the table, which has been set for a full thirteen-course meal. He stares down at the place setting, shaking his head before he looks back up at me. “You said five forks. There’s fucking eleven—”

  “Don’t let the flatware intimidate you.” Monsieur Bonnaire stands at the head of the table, motioning for me to take the seat across from Pax. “We aren’t here to discuss which fork to use. If you start from the outside—”

  “Yeah, yeah. Work my way in. I already got that part.” He shakes his head, looking up at the other man. “Then why the fuck are we here? I can just copy Sophia, right? She’ll be sitting next to me—”

  “Depending on the event, she may not be sitting next to you. Montovian tradition states that everyone at a dinner party sits with someone they don’t know so that new friendships may form.”

  “What the fuck?” Pax shakes his head again. “Why the fuck would I want to make new friends at a stupid dinner party?”

  “Pax…” I let out a long breath. “It’s the tradition. And it’s actually quite nice. You meet some lovely people that way.” I glance up at Monsieur Bonnaire. “But we aren’t here for that, either. Tonight will just be the family. You’ll be next to me. And there probably will only be five forks—”

  “The what the fuck is this about?” He glares up at Monsieur Bonnaire. “You put eleven forks on the table and six fucking spoons—for what? To make me feel stupid?”

  “Quite the contrary, young man.” He takes a step over, straightening a butter knife. “This is only to prepare you for the inevitable.”

  “The inevitable.” Pax parrots the words, rolling his eyes. “I’m inevitably going to embarrass myself, is that it? You just want to prepare me—”

  “Your jacket will be buttoned when you sit.” Monsieur Bonnaire interrupts, almost as though he can’t tell Pax is trying to tear his head off with his words. “You’ll unbutton it just after you sit down. You’ll then want to take your napkin from the plate in front of you and place it gently on your lap.”

  Pax grinds his teeth as he shakes his head, pulling the napkin off the plate in front of him. “Because I might violently put my napkin on my lap?” He slaps it down onto his thighs. “Like that?”

  Monsieur Bonnaire lets out a sigh. “Making noise with your napkin would be considered quite rude, especially if you’re seated near the king.”

  “Seated near the king?” Pax almost growls the words. “As if that’s going to happen—”

  “His wife will be seated to his left. Tradition states that you’ll be seated tonight to his right.”

  “What?” Pax looks like his eyes are about to pop from his head. “Why the fuck would I be seated next to him?”

  I chew my lip for a moment before looking up at him. “It’s tradition. Only if you’re a man, of course. But a new man invited to dinner with the king would be seated at his side so they might get to know each other. But only if you’re a man. If you’re a woman, you’re off the hook.”

  “Jesus fucking Christ. You’re telling me I’m going to be sitting next to your dad tonight? He fucking hates me—”

  “The king hates no one.” Monsieur Bonnaire interrupts. “And I doubt he would have invited you to dinner if he hated you. Now…” He motions toward the table again. “After you’ve placed the napkin in your lap, someone will pour your wine. You’ll drink first from the glass nearest you—”

  “Yeah, obviously.” Pax rolls his eyes. “And is there a reason there are four wine glasses on the table? Is part of this soiree getting drunk so I don’t have to think about it?”

  “Pax…” If I could, I’d reach across the table and take his hand, but he’s too far away. “If you could just—”

  “If I could just what? Chill out and let Mister Fancy Pants teach me to be a prince?” He lets out a shaky breath. “I’m not stupid. I—”

  “I never said you were stupid, Pax. No one thinks that. But this life… I grew up in it. I took etiquette lessons for years from Monsieur Bonnaire.”

  “And a fine job she did.” The man’s expression doesn’t even change. “Her brothers were quite a different story.”

  “Except for Andy, I’m sure—”

  “Actually, His Highness, Prince Andrew did not take well to etiquette lessons at all.” I could swear I see the faintest hint of a smile come to his lips. “He was quite the challenge.”

  “Really? ‘Ol Andy gave you hell at cotillion lessons?” Pax grins. “I’ll have to remember to use that one against him sometime.”

  “The children took lessons from quite a young age, Mister Donovan. And as I’m sure your wife would tell you, there is much to learn. There is quite a lot more to etiquette than learning which fork is used for which part of the meal. Today, we’re merely covering the basics so you can get through your first meal with the king without…” He pauses.

  “Embarrassing myself? That’s what you were going to say, right?”

  “I should say, to get through your meal successfully. It might be hard to believe, but the king is far more concerned with your conversation than with how you might hold your flatware.”

  “Yeah, that would be hard to believe.” Pax twists his mouth, looking over at me. “No one told me I was going to have to talk to him.”

  “You’ll be sitting next to him. You’ll have to talk to him.” I force a smile. “But my mother will likely lead the conversation. She’ll keep things on a topic that won’t be too…incendiary.”

  “Incendiary.” Pax grins. “I think me being here at all is pretty incendiary.”

  I give him a small shrug as I smile across the table at him. If nothing else, our meal tonight will likely be the most eventful family dinner we’ve ever had.

  Pax

  It turns out, I’m pretty good at knowing which piece of silverware to use. What I’m not so good at is everything else that’s considered “good etiquette” in Montovia. Who decided that you have to keep your elbows in while you eat? Or that you have to cut your food into bites smaller than a quarter—or, excuse me, a Euro? Apparently I’ve also been chewing wrong my whole life. Ma taught me to chew with my mouth shut, but that’s not good enough for royals. Monsieur Bonnaire thinks my chewing is too loud—but how the hell do you chew quieter? Chewing is chewing. I’m not going to belch at the table or anything—why can’t I just eat like a normal person?

  And that’s not even getting into the conversational aspects of dinner. Monsieur Bonnaire gives me a chart of the entire royal family—even cousins and stuff—and explains how I should address each one, based on my rank. As a guest, there are also rules about how I should speak and when, rules about what
topics I should bring up, rules about how I should answer questions. There are so many rules my head starts to spin. I’ve always hated rules, but now I hate them even more.

  You’re doing this for Sophia, I have to keep reminding myself. You said you’d do anything for her.

  Of course, when I said that, I never expected her to actually put me through hell to prove it. What does she think is going to happen here? That I’m going to magically turn into some Prince Charming overnight? Well, I have news for her. After three hours with Monsieur Bonnaire, I’ve managed to break two plates, bite my tongue so hard trying his “special way” of chewing that I draw blood, and I’m pretty sure I’ve taught the good Monsieur a few new curse words, too.

  But this is only the beginning, I know. Tonight is the real test. And in the meantime, I haven’t forgotten that William handed Sophia an entire list of names. She hasn’t brought it up yet, but I’m not going to let her keep it from me for long.

  We’re heading back to her suite after the lesson when I casually say, “I thought that went well.”

  She almost trips over her own feet. “You thought that went well? I thought Monsieur Bonnaire was going to have an aneurysm.”

  “It went well for me,” I say. “At least now I know that I can’t talk about my recent near-death experience at dinner. Or about sports, for some reason.”

  She shakes her head, but there’s a glint humor in her eyes. “I hope you remember a little more than that.”

  “Well, you won’t have to worry about my ‘obnoxiously loud’ chewing, at least,” I say. “My tongue hurts so much I don’t know if I’ll be able to eat at all.”

  She gives me a playful shove in the arm. “You’ll be fine, you wuss.” Her smile drops slightly. “I need you to at least try to do everything right. My father—”

  “Is looking for reasons to hate me, I know.” I rub the back of my head. “I’ll try. I’m just glad my lessons are over. I was never very good at school.”

  Her gaze slips away from me, but she says nothing.

  Oh, no. I’m not going to let you avoid talking about this, Princess.

  “They are over, aren’t they?” I push. She won’t lie to my face. I hope.

  She still won’t look me in the eyes. “Actually, I thought there were a few other areas where you could use some help.”

  “What areas?”

  She continues walking along as if she hasn’t heard me. I’m not about to let her get away with that.

  I turn abruptly, trapping her against the wall of the hallway, one arm on either side of her shoulders.

  “Sophia…” I say, a warning in my voice. “What areas?”

  She’s still having trouble meeting my eyes. “Just a few general lessons—”

  “Be specific.”

  Finally, she meets my gaze, and she’s suddenly her usual, stubborn self again.

  “I don’t know if you noticed back there,” she says, “but you still desperately need a lot of help. I’d say another week or two with Monsieur Bonnaire at the very least.”

  A week or two? Oh, God, I don’t think I’d survive another hour with that stuffy, suited man.

  But Sophia isn’t done yet. “There are other things you need to learn, too. We’ll need to make you an appointment with the tailor—first to get you some appropriate clothes made, but also to make sure you know what to wear for different occasions and different times of day. Then the dancing instructor—”

  “Wait, I’m going to have to take dance lessons?”

  She continues on as if I haven’t spoken. “And elocution lessons, of course. Then you’ll need to meet with the tutor to learn the history and laws of Montovia, and William also suggested you take some horseback riding lessons, since Father enjoys riding when the weather is nice. And—”

  “Wait just a minute here. Exactly how many lessons are you expecting me to take?”

  She raises her chin. “As many as it takes. But to answer your question, William was kind enough to put together a list of eleven areas where you could use some—”

  “Eleven areas?”

  She nods. “I’ve looked it over, and I don’t think it’s unreasonable—”

  “Oh, it’s definitely unreasonable,” I say. “Look at me, Sophia. I don’t care how many lessons you force me to attend. I’m not the sort of guy who can be helped by a few dancing and horseback riding lessons. Do you really think forcing me to listen to a bunch of pompous dirtbags is going to turn me into a proper prince?”

  “No,” she says. “But it’ll go a long way with my father. Isn’t that why we’re here? You’re the one who said you wanted to win my father over.”

  “Yeah, with my charm.”

  She laughs. “Your charm doesn’t exactly translate here. I’m not sure if you’ve noticed.”

  “I’ve got other charm,” I say. “How is being a good dancer going to help?”

  “Because my father will see that you’re trying. That you’re making an effort to fit in and do things our way.”

  “Your way went out of style a century ago.”

  She crosses her arms. “Not here, it didn’t.”

  I straighten, running a hand through my hair. “This is insane. I’m never going to be what he wants.”

  “Can you just go to the lessons, please? For me?” She grabs the front of my shirt. “Just try. Do what you can. It’ll help soften up my father, I promise.”

  “And what do I get in return?” I ask, stepping closer to her. “More promises of sexual favors?”

  “If that’s what you want,” she says, tilting her head back as I press against her. “You can have all the sexual favors you want.”

  I can’t believe I’m even considering going along with this. Why can’t I seem to deny this woman anything?

  “Fine,” I say. “I’ll go to these lessons. But I can’t promise I’ll be the prince your father wants me to be.”

  “Just try—”

  “I’ll try. But I think it’s only fair to warn you that I require a down-payment for my efforts.”

  “A down-payment?”

  In response, I tilt my face down to hers. “And I intend to collect right now.”

  I kiss her deeply, my tongue sliding into her mouth. After a brief hesitation, her arms come up around my neck, and I push her back up against the wall, pushing my body fully against hers.

  My hunger for her has been insatiable since I woke up from my coma. Of course, I couldn’t do much about it while I was in the hospital—not that I didn’t try—but now that I’m free, I intend to take full advantage. Sex morning, noon, and night. Anywhere goes.

  One of my hands grabs the side of her neck, and the other slides up her body and cups her breast. She groans, and I kiss her deeper, tilting her head back even further.

  I’ll do anything for this woman. Even if it ends up making me look ridiculous. But if she thinks a few lessons are going to transform me into someone else, she’s got a surprise coming.

  I drop both hands down to the hem of her blouse, then slip them beneath the fabric, gliding over the bare skin of her stomach and creeping back up to her chest. She continues to moan softly, and the sound turns into a whimper when my fingers slide under her bra and brush against her nipples. I’m going to fuck her right here, right against this wall—

  A throat clears, very loudly, just behind us.

  Immediately, Sophia pushes me away. Her cheeks are bright red, and even though her eyes are still dark with lust, she glances around nervously.

  I take my time turning. Mostly so I have time to rein in my annoyance instead of wildly swinging a fist at whoever decided to interrupt us.

  My temper doesn’t improve when I see who it is—the king’s pompous, stocky butler.

  What was his name again? Sebastian? Steven? Silvio?

  “Stephan,” Sophia says breathlessly. “I didn’t see you there.”

  “Apparently not,” he replies with a sniff. “This sort of behavior is not appropriate, Your Highness. Rest ass
ured the king will hear of it.” He starts back down the hallway.

  “Wait,” Sophia says. “We were just kissing. We’re going back to my suite now.”

  “That was more than just kissing, Your Highness,” Stephan says with a sneer. “As I said, highly inappropriate.”

  I’m not going to let this weasel get away with this shit.

  “Look, you little punk,” I say, starting toward him. “Just mind your own damn business, okay? Leave us the fuck alone or I’ll—”

  Sophia grabs my arm, tugging me back.

  “Not. Helping,” she says tightly out of the side of her mouth. To Stephan, she forces a smile. “What my husband was trying to say is that we’d really appreciate it if you let it slide this time. We promise you it won’t happen again.”

  Stephan gives another sniff. “Good day, Your Highness.” Then he turns his head and marches down the hall.

  “You should’ve let me at him,” I say. “He’s going to tell your father.”

  “Nothing we could have said or done would have stopped him,” she replies. “Do you really think threatening him would have made this better? This is what I’m talking about, Pax. You need to be careful.”

  “I am careful.”

  She gives me a look that says she has no time for my bullshit right now.

  “Fine,” I say with a sigh. “I’ll try. I just hate that little weasel.”

  “We all do, trust me.” She grabs my hand. “Now let’s get back to our suite before we cause another scandal.”

  “Sounds like a good idea to me.”

  We haven’t even made it to dinner yet and I’ve already managed to fuck up, I think as we head down the hall. I know Sophia thinks she can train me to be the sort of man her father approves of, but the truth is obvious: we’re fucking screwed.

  Sophia

  We nap in each other’s arms for the rest of the afternoon. He may be trying to hide it, but Pax is still recovering.